


Alive

by Crimson_Star



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Allegory, Character Study, Gen, Introspection, Regeneration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:26:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22045573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimson_Star/pseuds/Crimson_Star
Summary: "Alive. I'm alive! No, not yet, I remind myself. Alive. Soon I will be alive!" A being wanders on the edges of a dying mind. A being that is not yet alive, but is about to become so much more.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 25





	1. The Librarian

Alive. I’m alive. No, I reminded myself, not yet. But the idea of it, the idea burned bright in me. 

Alive. Soon I will be alive. The thought is utterly thrilling. What will it be like? I’ll have a mind, and a body, and a consciousness all my own. If I had a mouth or a throat or lungs I would laugh out loud. Instead, I just let the glow of the idea fill me. 

I felt The Moment growing closer, I’m becoming…. more. I drifted through the fields and libraries and corridors of the Cognizance, simply playing with the thought of it.   
Drifting. That is all the Could-Bes ever do. Drift. We never land, never see, never experience. But sometimes, sometimes one of us gets the chance. Once in an eternity, one of us gets the invitation. 

The calling to life. 

What will it feel like to finally land? To finally exist in the world not as a half-baked concept, but a real, solid being?

I had heard the Had-Beens muttering worriedly around the Cognizance lately. “He’s not going to do it this time,” The Clown had said, his usual mirage of colours swirling around him. 

“A foolish one, this one”, The Librarian murmured back, “I’ve always said that dear boy was too stubborn for his own good.”

“Perhaps, he is right”, suggested The Gardener mildly as he sprinkled water on his row of little flowers. “Perhaps it is our time.” That had earned him a few glares and scoffs from the others, but he had simply smiled and continued with his work.

“We still have things to do,” The Professor had argued, turning his dark, glittering eyes to The Gardener, full of unknown meaning.

“My shelves aren’t even half full!”, The Librarian had spluttered.

I hadn’t really cared that much back then. Back before I had felt the first glimmers of life. I had simply drifted away, not bothering to listen to the rest of the Had-Been’s bickering. All of us in the Cognizance have long since grown tired of it.

But today I would go out to seek them. They were not always in the same place. Each of the Had-Been’s own little worlds were, of course technically infinite, but their warm golden glow could be seen from almost anywhere. I wonder if I will glow when I am alive? Already I could feel a change. I was somehow more solid, more present. But The Moment was not upon me yet. I contented myself instead by drifting through the Cognizance, letting it flow through me. 

The Could-Bes almost never interacted with the other entities. We were usually content to watch from afar. After all, we have no place in this realm or any other. But today was different. I could feel something… A pull, a need to seek out any trace of life. And in this place, of course, the only glow of life to be found, was the afterglow of the Had-Beens.

I found myself in the Library. Tall, winding bookshelves pressed together into a labyrinth of histories, and hymns, and poems, and novels. The shelves climbed forever into the sky, each volume placed meticulously on it’s shelf. 

And of course there was The Librarian. The sharp old man who wore his golden glow like a cape around his shoulders. His silver hair neatly tucked in place. I watched him. I would say I watched him with a smile if I had lips to make such and expression, or a face on which to display it. 

He wandered down the thin little rows of the Library with a handful of books to contend with. There were no labels on the shelves to guide his sorting, and yet it was clear that he knew exactly where each new book belonged. 

“Hello, my dear”, he greeted casually as I drifted near him, giving a quick, small smile. 

That was new. He could see me. I wanted to laugh, even I couldn’t see me. What a strange creature these Had-Beens were!  
'Hello,' I wanted to say, 'Hello, Librarian. I have followed you many times through these halls. It is an honour to speak with you.' But of course I can’t.

He smiled again, almost as if he knew what I want to say. “You’re almost there”, he encouraged, “Just a little while longer and you will be like us! Well-”, he stopped himself, “You’ll be more than us. Much more”.

I hovered in place, considering and not really understand what he said. How is it possible to be more? More than a creature who has been touched by the blessing of life?  
“Oh Grandfather!” I looked over to see one of the Memories bounce over to The Librarian. I have seen this one occupy the Library on many occasions. In fact, it was rare to see the man wandering the halls without her. Sometimes other Memories would spring up to keep him company as well. “Is it happening again, Grandfather?”

“Yes , my dear child, but we mustn’t frighten them”. He placed his hand warmly on the Memory’s shoulder. “They’ve never done it before. I dare say it will happen quite soon”.

The Memory laughed a delighted little laugh. “Good luck!” she cheered. “You’ll love it out there”. I felt another little flash of excitement. The Memories had never been touched by life, but they knew of it. They were modeled off it. They were perhaps the closest besides the Had-Beens. 

The Librarian looked at me strangely. “Life is a funny thing,” he said, “A very funny thing. But remember this…” He leaned in close to me. “Our experiences make us as we are. We are lost without them, we are nothing without them.” A sparkle lit up his eyes, “But with them, we can be anything.”


	2. The Musician

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life depends on change, and renewal.

I drifted over the beach. Normally this sort of thing was to be done slowly. You were meant to enjoy the sun as it sets over the blue ocean, but of course the sun is always setting here. You were meant to listen to the crashing of the waves and the calling of the birds. But I was in a hurry. It was a strange feeling. I had never been in a hurry before, and I didn’t really know why I was now. It seemed for some unseen reason, like I should be going somewhere. Wherever that somewhere was, it was of terrible importance. 

The glow attracted me to a little patch of sand close to the water. There The Musician sat and played whatever melody popped into his head. Right now, he played a slow, lilting song. He swayed back and forth on his perch as the glow flowed through his little instrument and wreathed itself around his body.

The song swelled in me, my entire self rising and falling with the ethereal, passionate notes. He noticed me beside him, a thing I was not yet used to, and set down his instrument happily. “Oh My Giddy Aunt!” he exclaimed, leaping to his feet. The glow pulsed and flared with light. “It’s happening isn’t it?” He did a little hop on the spot and I backed away. The intensity of The Musician’s glow almost hurt in its ferocity as the tiny little man danced about. 

It was too much! How could it possibly be so intense? It’s burning me away! It’s blinding me! I turned away in fear. “Oh”, The Musician noticed and immediately stopped his little jig. “Oh my, I’m sorry I didn’t-” He shifted himself awkwardly as the glow settled down to a tolerable level. “This must all be very new for you. I didn’t mean to overwhelm”. 

I turned back tentatively, expecting another attack of light to hit at any moment. Is this what life was like? All of a sudden I wondered if I really wanted to experience it. “Don’t worry!” The Musician piped up, smiling once again. “You’ll get used to it.”

“And you’ll love it!”, another strange voice cut in. The Memory responsible walked up. I remembered him too. It was the one with the funny voice and the strange words. 

“Quite right, Jamie!” The Musician laughed. 

Suddenly, the light flared again and I jerked back frantically. I didn’t want to experience that again. It was too much to bear.  
The Musician looked at me with a deep compassion. He sighed. “I know it is a little intense, but let me tell you something…”, he gave me a wide grin, “There is no point in life if it is not lived with love and joy”. The Memory nodded enthusiastically. 

“Your life is for you to fill. You can fill it with wisdom, and experience, and intellect…”, he stared right at me with those kind, bright eyes. “but you will never be able to do what we do, if you do not fill it with this as well!” He let out a gleeful laugh and set to his instrument with joy. The music played all around them, filling the sky and the sand and the ocean until it was about to burst. It soared and dived and skipped through the air. The light flashed and flared and soared with it, surrounding the little man until he could barely be seen. 

This time, I did not turn away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Let me know your thoughts in the comments!


	3. The Scientist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where there's life, there's...

“Ah!” The Scientist said as I drifted into his lab. He stood, as he usually did, leaning over a little table, peering into a microscope. The golden energy spread out in front of him, settling inside the tubes and containers and implements scattered all around. “It’s you”, he stated, not bothering to look up, “It’s happening already is it? I thought it might be.”

I didn’t understand him, but it doesn’t matter. I could rarely understand what he says. He speaks in facts and numbers and knowledge that seems meaningless to anyone but himself. 

The Scientist’s world managed to be infinite in a very different way than the rest. It was a small infinity. The endlessness lay in the little things. The lab itself appeared to be quite small and cramped. The white walls barely seemed big enough to house the towers of equipment, samples, microscopes, organisms, computers, and other tools scattered about. But if one were to inhabit this mess, they would find that there was always just a bit more room for whatever they needed. 

The Scientist smiled at me as I ventured nearer. “Come closer”, he encouraged, beckoning me. His face shone with excitement as he stepped to the side, allowing me to peer into the microscope. “Look, look! Do you see?”

I looked through the little lenses. On the dish sat two little specks of brilliance. As I watched, they moved about, creating an intricate dance around each other. They sparkled and glittered in little bursts of energy, the golden glow flowing around them, infusing them with more and more energy. “It’s new,” The Scientist breathed, “Brand new. Unknown!” I felt myself swell with an elation I could not place. “Amazing is it not?”

I moved away, allowing him back to the microscope, still buzzing with the images of the brilliant unknown. “Liz,” The Scientist called, “Liz, have you seen this?”

A Memory appeared from behind the many stacks with a sigh. “Yes,” she said, a tone of amused exasperation in her voice, “I helped concoct the Amniotic Fluid, remember?”

“Oh,” The Scientist said, looking slightly miffed, “I suppose you helped a bit.”

“More like a lot!” The Memory insisted, “You nearly forgot to regulate the glucagon levels. It would have been disastrous!”

“I suppose you’re right,” the Scientist admitted sheepishly. “Well anyway, it’s fascinating!” His glow brightened with excitement as he snatched up a petri dish from one of the piles and set it on his work station. He disappeared into the towers of stuff, grabbing implements seemingly at random as he rushed by. “Liz, where did I put the-ah”, he stopped as she held up a flask swirling with a substance that seemed to change every second between a rich blue liquid and a wispy blue vapour. 

He whisked it away from her hand, holding it precariously in the crook of his elbow as he continued to snatch up other things. “Could you hold this for a moment?” he said, dumping a microscope into my hands. Hands! I nearly dropped the thing as I looked down and saw them. 

I have hands. I’m holding something! I’m touching something real!

I just stayed there, staring in marvel at my new…… well it wasn’t exactly a body. Not yet. Life has slowly started to trickle into me, and I have no clue what to do with it. 

The Scientist stopped and smiled. “It is new,” he said, “And new can be terrifying… But our minds need new things.” He put down his armful of equipment and came over to me. “Our minds will dull without new discovery. Never let your mind be dulled. Never let your hands lie idle. A sharp mind and quick hands can always be relied on.” 

I felt his warm, golden light wash over my hands as he took back the equipment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you had fun with this one! (I'll admit this Had-Been is not one I know much about compared to some others. So I hope I did his justice!)


	4. The Storyteller

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The very powerful and the very stupid have one thing in common. They don't alter their views to fit the facts. They alter the facts to fit their views. Which can be uncomfortable... if you happen to be one of the facts that needs altering.

The cobbled streets of the little town winded and zig-zagged and climbed up and down as I made my way through it. This world was a busy one. Figments of all kinds roamed up and down the streets. Memories, and Nightmares, and Could-Bes, and Ghosts all crammed together in the bustling town. It was easy to lose yourself in the little paths, but that is how The Storyteller liked it. He always liked his crowds. 

I found him sitting on an obscure little doorstep, deep in the throes of some epic tale. He waved his hands about grandly as he described the story, nearly hopping up from his seat in his enthusiasm. His golden light curled around him like a scarf, resting along his neck and swirling around his body like some cosmic piece of fabric. “Did I ever tell you the one about the metal machines and the madman who created them?” he asked his little audience. “I did? Oh.”

I drifted up to join them and recognised several of the Memories. the young man who held himself so straight and tall, the cheerful woman in the striped overalls, the lady in the hat whose face seemed to warp back and forth in the shadows….

“You’ve told us about that one hundreds times!” laughed the striped overalls.

“The mistress is correct, Master.” chimed in a tiny robotic voice. “234 times to be exact.”

“Oh, K-9,” The Storyteller chuckled, “The mistress is always correct”. He grinned, all teeth and curls. “Well, what did you learn from it, then?”

A murmur spread throughout the little crowd. “That one’s easy!” shouted a woman brandishing a long knife. “Never let the Daleks win.”

“Ah”, said The Storyteller, a hint of sadness entering his voice, “but they did win, didn’t they?”

The ever changing woman leaned forward. “Evil must be defeated, no matter the cost,” she answered with a solemn look.

The Storyteller looked at her for a moment, and then turned and looked directly at me. His eyes held such an intensity that I couldn’t look away. “Is that what you believe?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

I froze. What could I possibly say to that? 

Yes.  
The thought jumped out at me.  
Yes I do believe it, but I have no way of telling you that.

But he understood anyway. He nodded thoughtfully. “Yes. It is a noble thought…. But let me tell you something you might not like to hear.” He beckoned the crowd closer. “Evil can never be truly defeated. It will always exist out there somewhere. And sometimes it wins.” He gazed deep into me, imploring, demanding that I listen.

“Do not fight against evil. Fight FOR good, and maybe you can make the universe just a little bit better!” The smile lit up his entire face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a charming fellow. I hope you enjoyed! I accept any and all feedback in the comments.


	5. The Gardener

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When did you last have the pleasure of smelling a flower, watching a sunset, eating a well-prepared meal? For some people, small, beautiful events are what life is all about!

The garden stretched on forever. Leaves shone the greenest green. The sky hung above, a sheet of the bluest blue. The sun blazed bright and warm with just a hint of a cool breeze that made the flora sway peacefully back and forth.

The Garden was perfect and very well cared for. Anyone who set foot in it agreed. Yet it was a very peculiar garden. There seemed to be no pattern or design to it. There were no perfectly manicured shrubs or neat little rows of flowers. Instead everything grew as they pleased. 

Petunias mixed in with lilies and wild roses, bushes and shrubs sprung up every which way, trees grew up into the sky wherever they so desired. It was beautiful.

Despite the chaos, the garden did not look messy, overgrown or chaotic in the slightest. The myriad of colours mixed in flawlessly with each other. The red was never allowed to overpower the blue. There was always just enough purple to perfectly balance out the yellow. The shrubs never seemed to grow over or obscure any of the other plants. The trees, heavy with fruit of ever kind imaginable speckled the landscape, never growing too near each other. 

The Gardener was deep in his fields, his light shining like a beacon, strong and vibrant. As I drew closer, I felt a warmth surround me, even from a distance, the Had-Been exuded such a feeling of peace and happiness that is struck me to my core. He was bent down on one knee, humming a tune to himself as he dug a shallow hole into the soft soil. With the greatest care, he cupped both hands around the base of a little plant sitting in a pot and laid it in his freshly dug divot. Taking his time to ensure the plant was sitting just right, he pushed the displaced dirt back into the hole, gently packing in the new roots. He sat back a moment, a gleam of satisfaction in his eye. 

He looked up as I drew closer to him “Ah, hello!”, he beamed, “Are you enjoying the garden? I was hoping for a little rain today.” He gazed up at the clear blue sky in mild disappointment. “The Rosemallow and Irises could use some. But it seems we will have to do without. Sometimes this place is just a little too perfect, I find.” 

I stared at him. What a strange thing to say. How can something be too perfect?

“Are you still whinging about the rain?” shouted a loud voice from further down the field. I watched as a Memory sauntered over. 

The Gardener lifted his chin indignantly. “I’m not whinging, Tegan!” he whined, “I don’t whinge.”

The Memory chuckled. “In a pig’s eye you don’t!” A little good-natured smile played across The Gardener’s face as he rolled his eyes.

“Oh, leave him alone, Tegan.” A lilting voice spoke up. Another Memory appeared over the horizon and strolled over. “Besides, I’d be careful of who I accused of whinging, if I were you.” The Memory was young and very pretty. A halo of brown curls fell to her shoulders and she wore an elegant purple suit that puffed at the shoulders. 

The first Memory rounded on her. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she accused loudly.

Before anyone could answer, a Memory of a young boy bounded over to them. “I mean you don’t exactly ‘suffer silently’ do you, Tegan?” he teased. A gold star shone on his lapel. 

The loud woman was fighting down a grin as she snapped, “Oi, I didn’t come here to be lectured by a child!”

“Well, what about a schoolboy, then?” piped up yet another Memory as he came over the hill. His red hair shone like a brand of fire in the sunlight.

“Oh, don’t you get me started, Turlough…”

The Memories broke into laughter. The red-headed one clapped the loud one on the back, causing her to stumble forward. She grumbled through her grin as she fought down her own laughter. The Gardener laughed along with them as they wandered out, still bickering, farther into the field. 

I wondered why The Gardener didn’t get up to follow them. It seemed far more enjoyable than digging in the dirt. He looked at me. “Someone has to tend to the garden”, he said simply, returning to his work with a look of complete peace on his face. “And I don’t mind being the one.”

I drifted in close to his side as he got to digging another hole. Slowly, tentatively, I reached out with my new… hands. They brushed against a petal of a tiny yellow flower. It was so delicate beneath my touch. So fragile. Such a tiny thing. 

“Wonderful, isn’t it”, The Gardener breathed. “It’s not big, or strong, or noticeable. It’s not good or evil or even particularly important. It just is.” The whole field seemed to pulse with golden life. 

He lifted his head and turned to face me, for the first time giving me his full attention. “Cherish the little things,” he said. “Even the life of the smallest, most delicate flower deserves our love.” The intensity and sincerity of his words struck me. Unconsciously, I took a step back.

“Oh”, The Gardener’s cheerful face fell as he looked at the ground beneath me. In confusion I looked down as well and… I would have gasped if I could. Beneath me was a little purple flower, it’s stem broken beneath my…. Feet. Feet. I have feet. Panic started to claw it’s way through me as I flinched away from the plant. I had never been able to touch or influence anything before, and one of the first things I did was break and destroy and hurt.

I don’t want this! How can I protect them all?

“It’s alright”, The Gardener said softly. He turned his attention to the injured plant. From his pocket, he pulled out a little bamboo stick and a strip of fabric. With care, he burrowed the tiny stake into the soil next to the flower. Gently, he held the broken stem up and bonded it to the bamboo with the little piece of fabric. “It will heal in time”, he soothed, looking up at me. “And it will heal stronger than it ever was before.”

“We can’t always prevent this”, he said, a deep and stirring sadness weighing down his young shoulders. “There should be another way… but even if we can’t find it, we must never give up.” He looked at the Memory of the boy playing with the others. “And sometimes,” he sighed, “sometimes we should just go play cricket.” A little sparkle lit up his eyes and he bound to his feet. “One day, when it’s over, you can come as well!” He laughed and turned away, sprinting to the cricket pitch out in the field. Bickering, and laughing, and joking, the Memories went to join him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Had-Been is very dear to my heart. Perhaps the dearest to me out of all... The jury's still out. Anyways, enjoy! This one was definitely the most fun to write so far! Must dash!


	6. The Clown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All those lives I've lived. I hope... the footprint I leave will be light, but apposite...

The white tent rose before me like a splash of paint against the blue canvas sky. The shouts and whoops and screams of joy of this world could be heard from almost anywhere in the Cognizance. I had often wondered during my many visits here, how these creatures could be so loud. The creatures, I had overheard once, were called children. And children it seemed, were very noisy creatures indeed. 

The Clown stood, as he always did, in the center of everything. The children and memories and ghosts flocked to him as his light clothed him in every colour imaginable. Nothing was ever still about the Clown or his world. At this very moment, he held six eggs in his hands, gesturing grandly as he spoke to his growing crowd. “Gather around, gather around!” he encouraged warmly, a permanent smile fixed on his lips. “Now who here wants to see something amazing?” The children proclaimed their excitement in yet more screams and shouts. 

A soft little chuckle rang out above the racket. The Memory of an elderly woman with silvery white hair and half-moon glasses sat in a chair beside the clown, contentedly sipping on a mug of cocoa. “Now don’t get them too excited.” she warned, “Amazing is a bit of a stretch if you ask me”.

The Clown’s face contorted into a look of amused shock. “Well Evelyn my dear, I’d like to see You juggle six eggs flawlessly.”

“Flawless indeed!” the Memory laughed, “I’d like to see you do that too!”

The Clown shot her the evil eye before returning to his crowd. “Don’t listen to her, folks”, he appealed, “I rather think she woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning”. He shot her a pointed look and she let out a good-natured little tut. 

“Now children, do you think I can do it?” The question was met with riotous cheering. Children clapped and laughed in excitement. I imagined I could cheer along with them. “Well I certainly wouldn’t want to disappoint you!” The Clown beamed, glancing cheekily back at the Memory. 

He raised his hands, each softly holding three eggs. “Now let’s see how many of these I can hold in the air….” With a slight, calculated flick of the wrist he tossed a pair of eggs high into the air. “Two…” he narrated. “Three… four…” he continued as with each juggle he added another egg. “Five… Six!” he exclaimed. He looked as if he couldn’t quite believe he had done it. The vision was mesmerising. The eggs arched high into the sky as they reached their peak before seeming to hang in place. Then they would begin to fall, propelling faster and faster towards their messy end, only to be snatched at the last second and tossed up once more. 

The children went berserk. They laughed and screamed and jumped and danced. The Clown started to laugh along with them, and then the illusion was abruptly shattered. The colourful entertainer miscalculated his catch and one by one, the eggs smashed to the ground. The Clown let out a squawk of unpleasant surprise as one of the eggs slammed onto his head, spilling dripping, viscous yolk into his hair. 

I froze, tensing in apprehension as the Clown remained perfectly still on the stage. The children were no longer cheering, instead they stood just as stunned as I. I felt a trickle of …. Something crawl through my gut. And then I heard it. It was just a small noise. A small giggle from a small person in the crowd. Someone was laughing. The Clown, still looking stunned snapped his head up to locate the sound, he face completely unreadable. He scanned his crowd with a piercing gaze and then…. He laughed. From deep in his gut he let out a great guffaw of laughter. Suddenly, I had the absurd urge to join in. The Clown cackled, and snorted, and giggled uncontrollably, holding his gut and swaying from side to side.

The children joined in. Nervously at first and then with growing mirth. I watched in awe as the entire tent exploded with the sounds of joy. 

“Alright, alright!” the Clown eventually soothed, holding up his hand for quiet. The children quieted down right away. “Now, I’m going to need a volunteer!” He opened his arms wide to the children. “Whose feeling brave, today?” The mood changed immediately. The crowd shuffled and murmured nervously. Each kid lowered their head, averting eye contact with the Clown as his gaze roamed over them. I watched at the edge of the tent with interest.

“What about you?” the Clown said. He pointed at me, his eyes staring straight through me. I froze in surprise as his question sunk in.

Me? Why me?

I shifted uncertainly, not knowing if I should approach or stay put. “Well come on!” he snapped, “We don’t have all day.” I felt my feet moving forward, still a strange sensation, and before I realised, I was standing on the stage next to him.

“Now, Beings and Gentle-beings, prepare to be amazed!” The crown chattered with anticipation. The Memory in the rocking chair rolled her eyes with a secret little smirk. From his pocket the Clown produced six fresh eggs. A stab of fear coursed through me.

What in the whole wide Cognizance makes him think I can do that!?

“Don’t worry”, he comforted quietly, “You’re among friends here.” His eyes held something indescribable in their depths. “Trust me.” I felt myself relax despite my clawing fear. I took a step forward, the eggs in hand, shaking with anticipation. The audience held their breath. 

It went about as well as I had anticipated as I stood moments later amidst a new pool of shell bits and oozing goo. Something rose up in me as I stood on the stage. It was something I had never felt before. Embarrassment. Intense, unpleasant embarrassment.

Again the children laughed. They cheered and they whooped and they danced. I looked around in confusion. The Clown was laughing again. Laughing, and laughing, and laughing.

At me. I thought.

And yet, as hard as I looked, I couldn’t find any trace of mockery on his face. He looked at me looking at him and his deep laughter fell into a quiet chuckle. “It’s alright!” he exclaimed in between giggles. He rested a hand gently on my shoulder, a look of deep understanding upon his happy face. “Life is empty without a bit of silliness,” he grinned. “Do not take yourself too seriously. No one else will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't know, Evelyn Smythe (the old woman Memory) is a companion in the Big Finish series. A fantastic one in my opinion.


	7. The Professor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can always judge a man by the quality of his enemies!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long! But here's two chapters in a row! Yay!

I had never really figured out what this world was supposed to be. Of course I knew what it was called. A University the Had-Beens called it. It still made no sense.  
I continued to walk through the world, occasionally crossing paths with other entities of some kind or another, always preoccupied, always busy. Sometimes they were Memories, other times Nightmares, and occasionally a one or two other Could-Bes. I understood why my fellow Could-Bes liked it here. For an entity that knew nothing and was nothing, such a place of knowledge was… intriguing. 

I followed the winding stone paths, not really knowing where I was going to end up and strangely enjoying the feeling of uncertainty. The feeling of adventure. Eventually the path ended at the lip of some kind of dip in the earth. I looked down to discover myself on the edge of an expansive, outdoor amphitheatre. The structure easily could have held several hundred entities, but was at this moment empty, except for the three figures right down in the center. Two of them sat across from each other at a small table. They were both hunched over a large chess set, the pieces entangled in a formless pattern on the board. Standing over them, examining the game appreciatively was The Professor. 

There had always been something indescribable about him. Perhaps it was his eyes that glittered with both light mirth and dark secrets. Or maybe it was the fact that his light almost seemed to shroud him, like a shield hanging over him. Yes, there was something very funny about him indeed.

As I edged closer to the trio, I examined the two entities locked in their game. The first was a Memory. The girl’s hands played restlessly with the bat that she had gripped under the table. She was clearly very agitated, the annoyance in her eyes and the tension in her shoulders revealing as much. The second entity brought a chill to my soul. Or at least it would have if I had a soul to speak of. 

A Nightmare. 

The energy that flowed off of him was so very different from anything else in the Cognizance. I had heard it described by some as a shadow darker than any other. I had always found that to be an inadequate description. The darkness that followed them wasn’t just a shadow, it was a hole. It wasn’t just dark, it was a complete absence of all light. It surrounded all of the Nightmares, swallowing them, never allowing them to be touched by anything but darkness. Sometimes I felt a little sorry for them, for what a horrible thing it must be to never know any light. But that little seed of pity wasn’t enough to banish the cold terror I felt when I was near one of them. I did my best to shake away the fear as curiosity got the better of me and I ventured closer.

“Oh, hello there!”, the Professor greeted as he spotted me over the top of the ampitheatre, “Won’t you join us? We’re enjoying a little afternoon game.” The Memory snorted derisively at that. 

The Nightmare was hunched far over the game, his hooked nose inches from his queen, his eyes narrowed into slits of concentration. I leaned in too, finding myself strangely drawn to the board and it’s mess of pieces. The Memory fidgeted, clearly getting impatient.

“Are you ever gonna play? This is getting booooring”, she whined, hanging her head dramatically.

The Nightmare snapped his head up angrily at that. “I’ll play in my own time you stupid little girl!”

“Now! Now!”, the Professor berated. “Manners.” His dark eyes shot a warning glare at the Nightmare, whose only response was to hiss something unintelligible under his breath.  
“Yeah, that’s right you toerag”, the Memory muttered. The Professor attempted to shoot her the same look of curt disapproval. However, it was curbed somewhat by the blatant look of amusement on his face. I found myself filled with the same amusement as I observed the playful interaction.

The Nightmare grumbled sourly, turning again to the board. He was silent again for a few moments, before a wicked look started to grow on his face. The chill returned to me as he reached out his hand and slowly gripped one of his pieces, a slow, sickly cackle bubbling up in his throat. “It was a cute effort, little girl”, he simpered, moving his queen aggressively across the board, “but I am afraid you are simply no match for me!”

The Professor sighed, leaning towards me conspiratorially. “You know, I’ve never cared for this one’s dramatics. It gets rather tiresome after a while.” I didn’t quite know how to respond to that. How could he be so calm in the face of such a chilling creature?

The Memory’s eyes widened in shock as he snatched up one of her pieces. “Wha- that’s not fair! Professor, he can’t do that!”

“Hm?” The Professor leaned in once again to assess the situation. “Ah, well I’m afraid that he can… and he did.” He sniffed in disapproval. “Not very sporting, but technically allowed I suppose.”

The Memory growled in anger at that. “How am I supposed to beat a cheater! You should have just let me use my bat, or my Nitro-9 like I said! It’d be way easier than this bullocks!” The Nightmare gloated on the other side of the board, gleefully watching the exchange.

“Oh, Ace,” the Professor sighed, “The easy way isn’t always the best way. Sometimes you just have to sit down and puzzle your way out.”

The Memory gave him one more dramatic huff before slumping back into her chair. “Fine, I’ll do it, but I still think my way is better.” She reluctantly turned her attention to the board, seeing with dismay, that her pieces had steadily dwindled down to only a small few.

“So, what do you think her next move should be?” the Professor questioned idly, leaning in towards me. I stared blankly back. There were so many potential moves to make, how was I supposed to know what the right one was? The Memory seemed to be having the same dilemma, uncertainty clouding her eyes. 

The Professor reached out and laid a reassuring hand on the young Memory’s shoulder. “Focus on the little things. Don’t think about the entire game or you can easily miss the important details. Just think about the impact you can make with one singular piece and one singular move. You can do it.” I was struck by the warmth and steadiness in his funny little voice. I felt a great wave of calm come over me. Of course she could do this. 

“Psst.” I turned once again to the Professor as he hissed for my attention. It was still quite strange to be called on as if I were real. Perhaps I was just a bit more real than I had been before. It was a nice thought. The Professor beckoned me closer to him, bent over secretively. “Quickly, take this.” he whispered. He held out what looked like a funny little stick with a curved, red handle. “While he’s distracted, sneak up behind him and hit him with my umbrella!”

I stared at him in shock. That was cheating! But the Professor insisted, waving the stick urgently at me. “Sometimes it takes a sharp mind and a delicate hand to win, and sometimes it takes a blunt instrument.” He flashed me a manic smile and shoved the stick into my hands before turning abruptly away. 

Confused, and on shaky legs I found myself creeping behind the Nightmare, his focus intent upon the game. It wasn’t very hard at all to sneak up right behind his head. For a creature who had, until recently, been entirely non existent, this sort of thing wasn’t exactly difficult. I raised the stick high above my head, slow and deliberate. All I had to do now was swing it down with all my force. The Memory smirked encouragingly at me. The Professor simply watched. I tightened my grip. This should be easy. Why didn’t this feel easy? All I had to do was bring it down, and yet… And yet I wasn’t doing that. I couldn’t do that. It was cheating, wasn’t it? It was wrong! What was I doing? I stood frozen, unable to move, and then… and then I lowered my hand, feeling a heaviness in my chest that I just couldn’t ignore.

I looked back guilty at the Professor, expecting a look of disappointment. Instead his face broke into a wide, knowing grin. “Ahh, you’re going to be one of those are you?” 

The Nightmare spun around to glare at me. “Coward.” he spat.

I breathed in sharply. It had been a test?

“In part I suppose,” the Professor chimed in, as if he had heard my unspoken thought. “Although, I still think it would have been fun to see him get a good knock on the head.”

“God knows he deserves it,” the Memory muttered. 

The Professor laughed at that, while the Nightmare glowered on in discontent. “If there’s one thing you must learn,” the Professor announced, “it is that the trials never cease. Life you will find, shall continue to test you to your limits.” He fixed me with a most mysterious stare. “But you also may find that your limits can be as endless as you make them.”


	8. The Gravekeeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a lot of darkness out there. But you know something? We wouldn’t notice any of it, if it weren’t for all those little pinpricks of light. Planets and stars. And that’s where I go whenever I feel sad. The next bit of light in the darkness, keep on moving. Never look back. Well, hardly ever.

I had never really liked this world. In fact it was hard to imagine that anyone would like such a place. Despite the neverending blanket of thick, gray clouds and fog, not a single drop of rain ever fell from the sky. The only thing the clouds brought was the cold.

As the first gravestone appeared over the horizon, I felt the deep urge to turn back. Who would ever choose to inhabit such a miserable world? The answer, it seemed, was the Gravekeeper. Rarely had I actually seen him, for it was strongly encouraged by most to avoid him. And yet, as I set eyes on him, I found it difficult to imagine how anyone could find his presence so threatening. 

The Gravekeeper’s light fluttered in tiny little spots, like a loose collection of butterflies all around his head. His light felt somehow muted, quieter than the others had been. He looked incredibly small, kneeling beside a single tombstone within the endless rows of graves. He was a slight man, sporting a short yet messy haircut and a battered satchel slung over his shoulder. From his satchel, he was extracting a handful of little seeds and plopping them down into little holes in the soil. Next to him, lounging cross legged on the ground was a Memory of a young, blonde woman, helping out periodically by lazily burrowing another hole or two.

“You know nothing ever grows here, right?” the Memory prodded softly. The soft tone didn’t really seem to suit her voice, I decided.

“I know”, the Gravekeeper responded, hiding his face from her as he continued to work. “But I have to try.”

“Of course you do,” the Memory responded. There was something incredibly sad about her smile. A silence fell between them, interrupted only by the wind blowing through the desolate graveyard. “You know,” the Memory started, “I think I could get quite good at this whole planting thing.” The Gravekeeper seemingly couldn’t stop himself from letting out an incredulous guffaw. She snapped her head around and shot him a glare. “What! I could, you great big frock-coated ponce!”

“I’m sorry,” the Gravekeeper was having difficulty trying to speak through his giggles, “I’m just having trouble picturing ‘Lucie Bleedin’ Miller’ with a lovely little rose garden.”

He broke into another round of chuckling as the Memory shoved him playfully. “Oi, stuff it, you!”

“Oh, come on!,” he replied, “ One prick on your finger and you’d cut the whole thing down! You can’t lie to me Miss Miller, I know you too well.” The Memory gave the very dignified response of sticking her tongue out at him. It only succeeded in making the Gravekeeper laugh more, throwing his head up in a gesture of amusement. It was then that he first spotted me, approaching from a few graves away. All of the humour that had previously been there drained from him in seconds, along with all the colour in his face. The laughter died in his throat as if he had choked on it, and his whole body stiffened.

“Wha-what are you doing here,” he bleated, his eyes wide with fear. “You shouldn’t be here! Go away!”

“Oi!,” the Memory hissed at him, “There’s no need to be like that!”

I couldn’t understand his reaction. What had I done? Why didn’t he want to see me? I could see the fight within the Gravekeeper’s eyes as he tried to compose himself, pushing down wave after wave of something on the verge of panic.

“Listen,” he started tersely, “I-I know why you came, but you really don’t-,” he stopped himself from saying whatever it was he was trying to say, “ you shouldn’t be here. It’s not good for you.”  
A sick feeling began to rise in me as I stared into his face. A feeling I had never felt before. Whatever it was, it felt like I was choking on it. It sat like a crushing boulder in my stomach and crawled it’s way up my throat. It was as if the air was made of poison or all of the fog around me had been forced suddenly into my lungs. I had never felt something so deeply or so viscerally. And as I looked into the Gravekeeper’s eyes, I somehow knew this feeling. Grief. A deep, searing, incomprehensible mixture of loss, and regret, and shame that burned through this Had-Been with a ferocity unlike anything else.

A single horrible question blazed in my head...

What did you do?

I could bring myself to do nothing more than watch as the Gravekeeper flinched away from me, leaping to his feet in a desperate bid to get away. “Please,” he whispered, “You’d be better off if you just forgot me.” I stood, rooted to the spot, as he retreated over the hill and out of view. I simply remained, staring off in stunned silence.

“He’s wrong, you know.” The Memory came up behind me. I had nearly forgotten she was there. “He just needs to realise it.”

I found the Gravekeeper again, sitting alone on a bench, staring off into the unending field of tombstones. He didn’t even turn to look as I approached and sat silently at his side. His eyes were nearly as clouded over as the sky, staring out without really seeing. And there we stayed, sitting in the silence. Watching over the graves.  
“I used to hope that the sun would shine here one day,” he said.

As I gazed up into the perpetual grayness, I found the sun to be a strangely foreign concept.

“It was foolish,” he continued morosely, “Why would the sun ever want to come here?”

I considered this for a moment, taking in the cold, sweeping winds and the empty, biting air. It certainly seemed to be a less than inviting place.  
“I have nothing to share, you know?” he blurted out, the lines on his face hardening as he refused to look at me. “Nothing at all.”

The boulder in my stomach returned as I stared at the Gravekeeper. As I noticed how the little tremors in his hands infected his body, causing his shoulders to tremble and his face to contort into a terrible mask of pain. The burning question returned, unrelenting. 

What did you do?

A broken little noise escaped from the Gravekeeper’s mouth. It was something inbetween a laugh and a sob. His lips turned upward in a bitter smile as his eyes filled with tears.“You don’t want to know.” he rasped, his hands balling slowly into fists. “You really, really don’t.”

The sickness was rolling off of him in waves until it became too much to endure. I recoiled unconsciously from him, and looked again at the gravestones. The countless, endless gravestones that stretched on into infinity. Beneath each carved stone, I tried to imagine the Fallen, sleeping forever in this barren place. Being eaten away by the earth into nothing. The sheer scale of it came crashing down on me. How could anyone even grasp the concept of a tragedy so innumerable? 

The Gravekeeper sat there, his shoulders slumped under the incredible weight of his grief. “I tend to the graves,” he all but whispered, “so that no one else has to.” He closed his eyes, as if the sight before him had suddenly become too much to bear. “I stay so that you can go off and be…” he seemed to struggle with the word, “wonderful.” A breath caught in his throat and an incredible look crossed over his face for just a moment. 

He turned his head at that, and looked me square in the eye. “So that you can make it worth it.” His eyes blazed so intensely that I thought I might be burned by them. “Because it has to be worth it.”

The weight of his words struck me, froze me to the spot, staring into his eyes. And suddenly that question that had burned in my head was replaced with another. 

Do you regret it?

The Gravekeeper looked away again and tears started to roll slowly down his face. “Yes.” he cracked, his blue eyes swimming with pain.

Would you do it again?

The tears began to pool into a little puddle on the ground.

“Yes.”


	9. The Tinkerer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Could-Be finds themselves in the cluttered workshop of a broken genius. How does he put everything back together after everything, they wonder? Perhaps the Tinkerer has an answer to be found. Welcome to the Ninth part of my series diving into the subconsciousness of our hero.

The Workshop was… busy to say the least. Clutter made up of thousands of bits of devices, and machines, and everything else littered the floor and lined the walls. The work tables that occupied all the rest of the space, were in the same state, half-finished projects and mysterious bobbles of all kinds littering them. The walls were made up of a constantly moving kaleidoscope of exposed gears and lights turning and circling on and on, almost as if the room itself existed as a smaller part of some huge machine. If you looked long enough, it almost seemed as if the wall was dancing. Yet despite all this, the Workshop somehow managed to avoid feeling cramped or dirty in any way. Although the ground looked like a kind of maze with hazards aplenty scattered about, no one would ever trip over or step on anything. Instead, the room exuded a kind of cozy reassurance, lit by a multitude of mismatched lamps and candles placed wherever there was room.

The Tinkerer wasn’t immediately visible amongst the collection, tucked away in a cozy little corner awash with warm glowing light. He was hunched far over a worktable fiddling with some kind of tiny instrument. As I inched closer, I noticed what the warm glowing had been. The Tinkerer’s light shone brilliantly from his hands, like little sparks in the air. The light from his hands illuminated his contented face as he focussed on his task. The task, it seemed, was fiddling with a very complicated looking stick. At the moment, the Tinkerer was prodding the innards of the device with a needle, making minute adjustments to the gears inside. I edged closer with interest. A part of me knew that I wouldn’t understand whatever he was doing, but another part insisted that I look anyway. 

After concluding that I definitely didn’t know what he was doing, I caught the edge of the Tinkerer’s gaze. “Oh good, you’re here”, he exclaimed, cracking a huge grin. More golden energy poured out of his parted lips. “Quick, hand me that dimensional compensator over there” he gestured wildly past me.

I looked behind me to see that he was indicating another worktable to my right. I approached it hesitantly, unsure of exactly what he wanted me to retrieve. I hovered my hand over a thin, sharp implement.

“No, no,” the Tinkerer said, shaking his head vigorously, “There. There!” He pointed again, in the exact same place. In confusion I swept my hands over several different bits and bobbles, looking back at him for some kind of confirmation. He laughed. “Closer, but still no.”

I stared wide-eyed at the surface, desperately hoping to find whatever it was the Tinkerer wanted. But whatever it was, it continued to elude me. There was nothing else on the desk, just the little bobbles I had already pointed at and the wall of moving gears and devices that made up the wall behind them. A kindly, knowing smile lit up the Tinkerer’s face as I turned back to him in confusion. 

“It’s alright,” he assured me, “It’s not that hard to find I promise.” He pointed with his glowing hand again, at the same spot. “Here, I’ll help.” With that, he turned his open palm up, and blew softly on it. The glowing particles that had clung to him like fine golden dust erupted towards me in a gust of wind. I flinched out of the way as it flew past, nearly brushing up against my new, ever growing form. The light reached out like little tendrils as it reached the desk. However, much to my surprise, it kept going. Reaching out until it wrapped itself around a single tiny gear inside the moving walls, illuminating it with a warm glow. The Tinkerer let out a delighted laugh, and as the realisation struck me, I almost joined in. Perhaps I would have if I had been capable of it. “Now do you see?” he asked, looking at me with those happy eyes. 

With the laughter still inside me, I strode over to the illuminated bit of the wall and plucked the little silver gear from it. It was no bigger than the point of a pen, almost invisible on my hand. The moment the piece was removed, the gears surrounding it grinded to a halt, the little lights in the machinery blinking out, creating a dark little unmoving hole in the dancing wall. The little delight I had felt at discovering the piece died down a bit as I clutched it to my chest, staring at the hole. 

“Fantastic!”, the Tinkerer beamed, holding out his hand in anticipation. I pushed away the little seed of guilt inside me and turned to him, allowing his excitement to wash over me. It was only one tiny bit of the machine anyway. What harm could it do? The rest of the room still swirled with the movements of machinery, hardly even noticing that small missing piece…

I brought it over to the Tinkerer and watched with fascination as he snatched the tiny piece of metal from me and dove back into his work. His hands almost worked like magic, somehow managing to fit the gear perfectly into his stick with ease. It was like he didn’t even realise how hard it should have been to fit that little gear on a spindle no thicker than a strand of hair. And yet he managed it with that ever-present grin still stuck on his face. The second the part fell so miraculously into place, the stick-like implement seemed to come alive. A delightful whirring chirp of electronics leapt from it like a little song. And the tip suddenly burst alive with an impossibly bright, blue light. But nothing compared to the warm humming it filled my palm with as the Tinkerer suddenly shoved it into my hands.

This time I really did try to laugh. 

The Tinkerer laughed. “I like it too,” he enthused. I turned the device over and over again in my hand, marvelling at the feeling of something so solid against my skin. The experience was still something of a novelty. “Come on!” the Tinkerer called abruptly, jumping from his stool. ‘We’re not done yet.” He snatched up my hand in his and we ran out through a circular hallway I had failed to notice at first. I let him lead me through the twisting corridors, winding this way and that, passing mysterious door after mysterious door. I wondered where he was taking us. 

The Tinkerer grinned widely. “On an adventure!”

Finally, after an exhilarating run hand in hand, the corridor ended. At the end sat a heavy door, waiting. I stared at it a moment, a chill suddenly riding down me. There was something so very unlike the rest of this place behind that door. I could feel it. I glanced nervously back at the Tinkerer, unsure of what to do as the moments stretched on. He gestured enthusiastically back to the door, his eyes holding something indescribable in their depths. “I can’t continue,” he explained, staying several paces behind me.  
Suddenly I felt very unsure, shifting my eyes back and forth from the door to him. I was to go on alone? The notion wasn’t a very exciting one, I thought.

The Tinkerer’s expression changed as he looked at me. It grew suddenly sadder, as if one of the Gravekeeper’s clouds had rushed over his head. After a moment he quietly lowered his hand. “I understand.” he started. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” I was struck by his quiet sincerity. “There’s no shame in it.”

I considered him for a moment, watching as he retreated into himself and I felt that he meant it. The door loomed… waited. It crept up on me slowly, unnoticeably. The unshakable feeling that I needed to know what was behind that door. What had he called it back in the room? An adventure… 

The hunger to know filled me as I debated until, almost without my knowledge, my hand was closing around the handle. Steeling a breath, I pushed open the big, dark door. The view at first was almost anticlimactic. Nothing but darkness stared back at me, a stark contrast to the ever-moving silver gears that made up the rest of this world. For a moment I wondered if there was simply nothingness behind the threshold. And then I took a step through the doorway.

The room was incredibly cavernous and dark, shadows stretching forever into the unknown deeper depths of the room. As I looked harder, I began to notice that the walls in here were indeed as silver as the others. However, there was nothing moving inside these walls. No life to speak of. Instead, the gears that made up the walls were as still and silent as the darkness surrounding them. Instead of turning, these gears oozed. Thick, black liquid dripped forlornly from the gears, painting everything in filth and dread. It was almost as if the liquid began to seep into my throat as I edged farther and farther into the room. A vile taste of bitterness and rot swept over my tongue, clogging my senses in its unpleasantness. It all became suddenly too much to bear as I unconsciously rejected the imaginary substance with much hacking and retching. A cold shiver ran down me as I looked upon the walls. So dark. So empty. So unlike anything else I had seen here. Why, why was this here? Why didn’t the Tinkerer want to enter? Why did he send me here? My head buzzed with unanswerable questions as my entire body urged me to leave as quickly as I could. My feet began to work of their own accord, backing me up to the door. 

However, just as I was about to take my first step into the warm comfort of the corridor, I caught sight of something… Something that suddenly glowed strangely bright in the deepest bowels of the room…. A pinprick of… something. I was drawn to it. It pulled me, begged me to go to it. 

Even as I started to move towards the mystery, I tried to fight against it, willing myself to turn and run. This place was dangerous. It was horrible. No one should ever be here.  
“Well, hello there.”

I had a sudden urge to shout in alarm as the Memory seemed to pop into existence. I spun around faster than I had thought was strictly possible to see a tall, dark hair man grinning down at me. The smile was wider than perhaps any other smile I had ever seen. His eyes sparkled blue mischief and his long coat flappedeven in the absence of any detectable wind. He smiled even wider upon seeing my face and leaned his whole body casually against the doorframe. 

“And who must you be?”

I had no answer for him, but that didn’t seem to phase him. “How do you do”, he charmed, taking my hand in his and giving it a swift kiss. “Not the talkative type I see. Well, that’s alright. I can do enough talking for the two of us.” he paused for a moment, still clasping my hand in his. He gave me a wicked look, his smile turning devilish. “Mind you, talking isn’t all there is.” I looked back at him in confusion. He laughed, a shining figure of mirth in the terrifying inky blackness.

The Memory’s jovial laugh caught in his throat as he looked back at me. I imagined I wasn’t a very happy sight, the fear coming back to cloud my eyes. He followed by gaze, swinging around to rest his eyes on that one little pinprick… so very far away.

“Ahh, the Doc had a little quest for ya, huh?” he asked, flashing me a look of mild sympathy. I didn’t answer. “Well, if it’s a quest from him, I guess we better go get it.” And with that, he held out an open palm to me. An invitation. “Don’t want to be left behind, do you?”

I stared at it. It was so open and relaxed, just sitting there, waiting for a companion. On an impulse, I reached out and grasped it, and together we marched out into the darkness.

()

I stepped tentatively back into the swirling light of the workshop, blinking at the brilliance that shone after all that time in darkness. The Tinkerer looked up from his new project, his face immediately transforming into one of delight. “Well, how was it? Did you get it?”

I held out my hand in response, revealing a little gear, spinning slowly in my grasp, still dripping the remains of the black ooze it had previously resided in. The Tinkerer leapt up and swept it out of my hand in one move, excitement plastered all over him. 

I felt strangely cold as I watched him hop about. Something inside me insisted that something wasn’t right. It just didn’t feel quite right. As the Tinkerer looked back at me in his joy I felt a question begin to bubble up inside me. The question was on the tip of my… well, something. Why had he taken all those pieces I could see around me and brought them here? Why did he steal?

The Tinkerer slowed and looked back at me curiously. I could see something flicker in him, just for a moment before it was pushed back down. “You see bits of that place all around you, don’t you?” I nodded. He nodded along with me. “Well, the parts have to come from somewhere, don’t they?”

I pondered this slowly, remembering the horrible black emptiness of the other place, and the bright goldenness of this place. The Tinkerer let out a sigh, dropping down beside me. I was stunned to see all that eccentricity leave him, to be replaced with melancholy as he sat on the floor at my feet. After a quiet moment, I sank down with him, and I asked another question.

“Will it last?” The Tinkerer smiled his saddest smile. “Nope, probably not.” He paused, spinning the gear over and over again in his palm. “But you can’t worry about that forever, can you? It works for now. Right at this very instant. That’s all that matters.” The hard resolve in his voice almost seemed to shake the floor beneath me. But what about when it stops? I found myself wondering. 

The Tinkerer smiled again. “When it stops working- well, you still have all the pieces don’t you?” he unfurled his hand, holding up the little silver gear almost reverently. And then he turned to me. 

“Don’t spend your life thinking about the past or future, what’s here, what’s happening right now is far more important. Live as you are right now. Forge your own path.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Fate can wait until tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next part already written, coming very soon! (quite a rarity)


	10. The Dancer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Could-Be finds themselves in the vast chambers of a ballroom with only a single dancer in its halls. A Dancer full of romance, melancholy, and longing. A man that holds inside him both impossible joy and impossible sadness.
> 
> Welcome to the Tenth part of my trip through the Doctor's subconscious!

The next world was one of grandeur, of that description I was sure. The ballroom was vast, with sweeping marble walls lined by mirrors on every side. It was with a small twinge of delight that I discovered the vaguest shadow of a Being staring back at me through the mirror. I wasn’t exactly… something, but I was close. 

My eyes drifted away from myself as I marvelled at the beauty of this world. The pillars that held it up were adorned with pieces of multi-colour mosaic that came together to create a formless display of colours. Every colour one could possibly imagine. And as my gaze drifted upward, I saw the ceiling. Etched into the deep blue marble were countless circular carvings, dancing together into an inexplicable pattern. And finally I saw the one occupant.

The Dancer stood all alone on his dance floor… waiting. He held one hand outstretched before him, as if waiting for someone to accept it. I moved awkwardly towards him, unsure if I should interrupt. The Dancer turned ever so slightly to regard me as I came closer, still holding his hand motionlessly in front of him.

“Hello there!,” he greeted enthusiastically, waving his other hand in a big, sweeping gesture. “I’ve been expecting you- well, I say expecting. More like wondering- well, I say wondering…” I stared at him as he babbled on, amazing by his seeming ability to spout out word after word without so much as pausing for breath. “I mean you were bound to show up eventually, weren’t you?” as he finally concluded and with those words I glimpsed a moment of melancholy in his big eyes. I wondered why.

The Dancer blinked and the sadness was gone. “Well you’re here now!” he continued, instantly more cheery. “‘I’d ask you to dance with me, but I’m waiting for someone”. He looked down expectantly at his, still extended, arm. This someone was certainly taking their time. 

As soon as that thought left me, a figure popped into the ballroom from thin air. I was almost amused by the timing. Typical. Just typical. 

I looked over to see the warmest, happiest expression spread across the Dancer’s face as he gazed as his new partner. She slipped her slender hand into his and stared at him expectantly. “Well then, shall we?” She grinned and the Dancer returned it, wrapping her in both arms and sweeping her elegantly across the ballroom floor into a waltz. As they began their flowing waltz, music began to soar from an unknown source, quickly filling the air. 

I watched in fascination as the pair dipped, and strutted, and twirled in perfect step, smiling the entire time. The blonde Memory let out a delighted yelp as the Dancer threw her into a particularly energetic twirl. “Careful!” she exclaimed, “You’re making me dizzy!”

The Dancer grinned even wider as he pulled her out of the spin. “I’m terribly sorry, Ms. Tyler”, he teased, putting on an exaggerated posh voice. “How improper of me”. This earned him a giggle from his partner. 

“Your impropriety is forgiven, good sir”, she responded with equally silly gravitas. The Dancer laughed at her and she laughed back as they pranced merrily around the hall, hand in hand. 

Then, the Dancer dipped her with a grace and gentleness unmatched by any other. He dipped her low, until her shoulders nearly brushed the floor and gave her a joyous smile and then…. And then she was gone. 

There was no shock in the Dancer’s face as he remained bowed, his arms still outstretched around a now non-existent form. Instead there was only a distant, knowing sadness. I felt his heartbreak grow inside me, empty and aching. The two of use dwelt on our heartbreak in the hollow ballroom, in silence. 

I wondered if the silence would go on forever, and then, just like that, the Dancer’s arms were no longer empty. A new Memory popped suddenly into place, dipped between the Dancer’s hands. His face lit up as she gave him an infectious smirk, straightening him up out of his bow. 

“Don’t tell me you were going to stand like that all day?” she ribbed. She promptly took one of his hands off her waist and placed it smartly over her shoulder. Arching her back out confidently, she led him into a jaunty foxtrot. The music changed accordingly and the two were swept up into their new step. 

“I was waiting for you, Martha Jones”, he sniffed, “seeing as you were late”, he raised both his eyebrows cartoonishly. 

The Memory let out a great, big, playful ‘Ha!’ “Something you should know about me is, I’m never late Mista.” She paused thoughtfully. “You must have been early”.

“Well…” The Dancer seemed at a loss for words as he focussed on keeping up with the Memory’s complicated footwork. “I must have been excited, then!”

The Memory laughed happily at him. “About me?” She batted her eyelashes exaggeratedly. “I’m flattered.”

The Dancer’s big eye roll didn’t manage to hide his smirk. He lifted his hand high above her head and threw her into a fast twirl. Before the end of the spin, she was gone.

The Dancer stared at the spot where she had been before letting his hand fall limply at his side. He turned away, facing the mirror behind him, his eyes closed. I felt a peculiar mixture of emotions rise in me as I watched him, the very image of melancholy and perhaps something deeper. 

I had no time to dwell on it, however, as fiery red-haired Memory tapped the Dancer expectantly on the shoulder. “Oi!” she exclaimed.

The Dancer turned, joy erupting immediately on his face. Before he even had time to respond or gather himself, the Memory pulled him into a triple-time jive. The music changed itself, mid-note, into an energetic pop song. She laughed at him as he fought for a moment to keep his feet under him. “A bit clumsy today are we, Spaceman? Have had a little too much ‘happy juice’ have we?”

The Dancer’s face twisted into a mask of spluttering indignation. “I am a Timelord, I don’t have ‘happy juice’.” He lifted his nose up into the air, causing himself to stumble once again.

The Memory snorted in his face, earning her a smile. “Oh yeah,” she pressed, “Then how do ya explain the two left feet, Timelord?” She stretched out the last word mockingly. “Do they not have dance lessons on Mars?”

The Dancer giggled at her, already breathless from the dance. “I’m not-I’m not from Mars!”

At that, they both collapsed into fits of laughter, clinging to each other in order to keep the dance going. Their performance went on for several more impossibly joyous moments, their infectious mood swelling in my chest. 

And then suddenly, the Memory stumbled to a halt, losing her grip on her partner. The Dancer quickly stopped himself and came to her side. “What’s the matter, can’t keep up with my fancy footwork?” he teased, still positively bouncing with energy. 

The Memory stared back at him in confusion. “No, it’s just the steps...” her face grew blank, “I’ve forgotten them.” I blinked, and she was gone. 

I could feel nothing but shock…. And after a moment, overwhelming guilt. I couldn’t understand why I felt so incredibly guilty. The Dancer backed slowly away from the empty spot, all his energy forgotten. And there he stayed for several moments, lost in his stupor. I wanted to turn away. What was next? Another partner? Another heartbreak? I didn’t want to watch it again.

And yet I couldn’t bring myself to turn away as the Dancer recomposed himself and deliberately outstretched his hand again. But no one came. Not this time. He waited until it became quite clear that no one else was coming. 

Then, and only then, he turned to me. “Would you like to join me?” he asked. Something in his eyes wasn’t entirely welcoming as he looked at me. I sense reproach, perhaps even fear. He was expectant, but certainly not welcoming. 

I drew myself closer, considering the hand. What would happen if I took it?

“Trust me”, the Dancer said with conviction. I took a breath and slipped my hand into his. He pulled me slowly into dance, guiding me across the floor. He gave me a little smile as he did. “It’s sad, isn’t it?” I looked at him, my answer in my eyes. “Why would you even start the dance if you know it’s going to end?” 

I couldn’t find an answer. 

“We dance because… because we love it… even though it ends.” He stared at me as we spun slowly. “Love deeply and love unconditionally. It will be worth it in the end.” His eyes sparkled like stars. “It’s always worth it in the end.” 

The music faded slowly into silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? I said I'd get it out quickly. Only two more chapters to go!


	11. The Artist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Could-Be ends up in a place of endless darkness and endless light. The Artist creates... and the Could-Be grows...  
> Welcome to the penultimate chapter of this story! Only one more to go!

There was something so different about the meadow at night.

All the colours of the sky, and the grass, and the sporadic wild flowers submitted to the persistent blanket of dark, inky blueness. It was a curious thing, the blueness. The sky at night was not blue, instead it hung above in total blackness. There was nothing to cast any light. So why was there blueness? Where did it come from? The blue was so dark that sometimes I wondered if it was indeed just blackness… but then, you wouldn’t be able to see anything against the black sky would you? No. It was definitely a dark, inky blue that painted everything. Like someone had placed a coloured shroud over your eyes. I wondered if I looked blue here too.

I almost didn’t see The Artist as I glided through the meadow. Eventually I spotted him, a soft light blue glow against the rest of the darker hue. I wondered idly if he was the one casting the blueness. He was lying flat on his back, in the exact center of the meadow, staring up into the empty sky. I tried to follow his gaze up, to find what he was staring at so raptly, but I could find no point of interest up above… Just more black.

“No, no. That’s not true at all!” the Artist proclaimed suddenly. He turned his head to me and smiled. “You're just not seeing properly. It’s obvious, really.” I blinked at him in silent confusion.  
How could I not be seeing properly? There was nothing to see!

“There is so much to see”, he said dreamily, relaxing back onto the grass and staring upwards once more. “Here, lie with me.” The Artist stretched his hand up above his head, eagerly offering it to me. I took it hesitantly, and allowed him to pull me down into the grass beside him. There we sat for several long moments, him gazing upward, and me glancing bemusingly at him from the side.

“You know when you’ve been outside on an impossibly sunny day for hours and you first step into the house with all the lights turned off?” the Artist started abruptly, never taking his eyes off of the blank sky. Despite the fact that he wasn’t looking at me I shook my head in confusion. What was he talking about?

The Artist smiled with a kind of amused understanding before continuing on. “When you first step into the house, you can’t see a thing because your eyes have become so used to the brightness that everything else looks impossibly dark in comparison.” He gestured up at the black sky as I felt the tiniest inkling of understanding seep into me. “Well that’s what this is like…”  
He smiled with wonder before abruptly frowning in confusion. “Actually this isn’t like that at all, forget I said that.” I felt the confusion returning as I looked at this funny little man staring up into the nothingness. He sighed a little, contented sigh. “Look up.”

Still not fully understanding why, I allowed my eyes to follow his up into the sheet of total darkness. “You see the blackness? It’s so impossibly dark isn’t it? It seems almost too dark to just be black, doesn’t it? It’s somehow more than that and less than that at the same time.” He stretched his hands up into the sky, gesturing with every word. “But you’re wrong. There’s brightness up there too, it’s just a little harder to notice.”

I blinked, trying to see anything other than the darkness. “Do you see it?” he prompted, “Right…. there!” He pointed enthusiastically at a point in the middle of the sky. “You see that bit in between the blackness? It’s not exactly brightness, but it’s not darkness either.” My eyes widened. “But the longer to stare at it, the more obvious the contrast becomes. The black fades away, softens into the beginnings of light. White light…. It’s very clear now, isn’t it? A star, twinkling with bright, blazing white light.”

I gazed at it with shock and wonder. How had I not noticed it before? It was the most obvious thing in the world. A single pinprick within an endless field of black.

The Artist jolted upwards with a start, leaping to his feet with no warning. I picked myself off the ground in a slower fashion as I watched him dash further down the meadow. And then he stopped just as abruptly as he had started in front of a tall easel and canvas. I plodded my way over to him as he rummaged distractedly in his pockets, finally managing to pull out a handful of paintbrushes.

He selected one, snatching it from the pile, and began his work. A shade of bluish blackness blossomed onto the canvas from his brush, each stroke blanketing the surface with more and more darkness until it seemed to be itself, a part of the sky above. The Artist grinned in satisfaction down at his canvas, pausing to contemplate for a moment before setting his brush to the page again.

This time he painted the surface with more precision, dotting it with tiny little splashes of brilliant white against the darker shades. I stared at them, mesmerised by the brightness of those tiny little points. Why was he painting so many stars when there was only one, I wondered absently. He filled the sky with twinkling lights and I found myself wishing the real sky looked like that. The Artist laughed. “Look up”, he urged. The sight was stunning. Hundreds, thousands, millions of stars hung above my head in a sheet of breathtaking beauty. I stared. Unable to look away.

“You missed one.” came a sharp voice from behind me.

“What? No I didn’t!” the Artist snapped, spinning himself to face the tall red-headed woman crossing her arms indignantly.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah you did! Right there!” She pointed straight up into the sky. “See? No Rigel.”

The Artist huffed, turning back to scrutinise his painting. “Ridiculous, I would never miss something so-” he stopped dead in his tracks as he stared at a spot on his painting. “Yes well that’s an easy mistake to make, anyone could do it.” he blustered, waving his arms about haughtily. “How did you even know where it was?”

The Memory smirked “It’s in Orion’s constellation.”

“Oh, yes” the Artist sighed as he hastily added the missing star. “The Roman.”

“Are you having fun without me?” a teasing voice rose over the hill. I blinked in surprise as a bizarrely dressed Memory strode towards us. He was in a brilliant red and gold suit of armour, a gleaming sword attached to his hip.

The red-headed Memory gave him an innocent smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. Pond.”

“Oh you’re here!” the Artist exclaimed, poking up his head excitedly. “What took you so long?”

The Memory rolled his eyes goodnaturedly. “I hope he hasn’t confused you too much.” he teased me. I looked back at him, unsure how to respond.

The Artist poked his head up again. “What’s that supposed to mean!”

The Memory leaned in conspiratorially. “Did he say the thing about staring into the sun?” The red-headed Memory giggled at that. “Yeah I don’t get it either. Better to just smile and nod.” I smiled at that, twitching in amusement as I turned back to watch the Artist’s frantic painting.

The artwork now had two figures in it, the Memory with the red hair, and the soldier. And…. something else too. I hadn’t noticed it at first, but there was definitely a third figure there. I stared hard, trying to identify any solid features, and I found that I couldn’t.

“It’s you.”

I looked up, startled to see that the Artist was no longer painting. Instead he was looking at me. “Can you feel it?” he prompted. “Can you feel yourself growing into existence?” I shook my head unconsciously. How could I possibly answer that? How would I even know what existence felt like if I had it?

The Artist gave me a full smile, gently pulling me closer to the canvas. “Here,” he said as he placed the paintbrush in my hand. “Just think. Think of what it is that fills you up on the inside. What is the essential thing deep inside you that makes you, you? And then just… let it flow through the page.”

I don’t know exactly how I did it. What it was that I pulled from as I painted stroke after stroke. And yet something was there. Something inside me that moved the brush. I felt a great, unrestrained rush of joy fill me. Dancing through me and into the artwork. The sheer intensity of it stunned me, rooted me to the spot. Where had that come from? How could there even be so much joy stored inside one person?

The Artist let out a thrilled laugh as he gazed at the canvas. “There is joy in everything.” he responded. “In every person, and painting, and sky, and star. You just have to look hard enough to find it.”

We gazed up into the stars.


	12. The Could-Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! Finally the story is complete! I hope you like what I cam up with. Both an ending and a brand new beginning for our little Could-Be.

The call drew me. How could it not? It was so yearning, and mysterious and demanding of attention. I couldn’t seem to recall exactly when it had begun its call. I could almost imagine it had always been ringing, always been calling to me, I just hadn’t had the ability to hear it yet. But it was there now. Like a song in the wind. 

I made my way to it, walking. Each step landed on a new surface; grass, sand, cobblestone, dirt. What a sensation it was! To no longer simply drift, but to interact with the things around me, as if I truly did exist for real. 

As I walked, fascinated by my own footsteps, I began to notice something else as well, a quiet pair of footprints walking by my side. For every one of my footfalls, there was one to match by my side, and as hard as I looked, there was no person to make them. Just an empty space beside me. Well.., not exactly empty, just simply unseen. I could feel their presence brushing up against me. A warm- no not warm... a burning soul walking hand in hand with me. There yet not quite there. I found myself wanting to shrink away, their presence was so intense, so unlike anything I had felt before. And yet at the same time, it filled me, fueled me, embraced me. 

I kept walking. I was getting closer to the call, I could feel it. And as I drew closer, the more aware I became of the entities around me. I don’t know when they first appeared but as I looked around me, I became suddenly very aware of their presence. Memories, and Ghosts, and Nightmares, and Figments pressing in from all sides, getting closer and closer and closer. They were all speaking, a cacophony of voices and sounds and whispers all mixed together into a terrible storm.

“Say hello to my daughter will you, Doctor?”

“Don’t end up like me.”

“Die my dear Doctor. You must die!”

“I love you.”

“I hate you!”

“Help me.”

“Don’t forget me.”

“You always got me into the most terrible trouble.”

“The Doctor must not be allowed to continue.”

“I hope you’ll forgive me one day.”

“Stop him!”

“Stop her!”

“What is it you always told me?”

“Wicked!”

“Sanctimonious.”

“Fantastic.”

“Hypocrite.”

“Trickster.”

“Cruel.”

“Kindly.”

“Doctor!”

I covered my ears with my hands, it was too much! Stop! Stop! I can’t take it! My steps stuttered to a halt as they pushed and pushed, grabbing a hold of me, pulling me apart! I curled in on myself, it was too much to bear. All this sensation, all this feeling, all this responsibility. It was tearing my very Being apart. I tried to scream and found that I couldn’t. 

And then- and then it stopped. I could feel them more than I could see them. They were all around me, protecting me, shielding me from the outside; The Could-Bes. They spread out around me on all sides, both somehow so limited, yet infinite in their existence. The Could-Bes drifted along with me. As I walked, I felt a pang of something, of realisation. I wasn’t like them anymore.

I don’t think I am like anything anymore. I am something else entirely. 

I trekked on, accompanied by a crowd of the entities matching my every step, and accompanied by those burning footsteps walking side by side. The walk was long, but I didn’t mind. I watched the sky as it transformed to night, and day, and sunset, and starlight, and gray clouds and everything in between, as if it couldn’t decide what it wanted to be. And as I travelled closer and closer to the source of the call, I could feel it’s hum beneath my feet. Low, humming vibrations shaking the ground ever so slightly, moving through me like a living, breathing thing. The entities began to peel off as they felt it, faltering further and further behind until one by one they disappeared from view. Wherever it is that I was going, the entities wanted no part of it. Some waved goodbye, some slunk off into the shadows, and still others just watched unmoving as I drew further and further from them. 

And then the Could-Bes left. It was like they took a part of me with them as they drifted away, back to their nonexistence. I watched them leave, an aching in my hearts. And when I turned around, I saw it. 

A great pillar of golden fire stretching up into forever. 

My steps faltered as I saw it. Even from this distance, the air pulsed with its raw, unbridled power. I froze to the spot, struck utterly still by the marvel before me. There was no end to this vertical path of fire, stretching up past the end of the sky and out into that void of infinite darkness. The Unknown. 

The burning footsteps faltered too, its fire was no match for the pillar ahead and together we stood, beholding it. And then it called to me again, the pull, the need intensifying tenfold. I had never felt this before, such intense fear and intense need fighting inside of me. 

The need won out as I felt myself taking a shaky step forward, and then another, and then another. The footsteps joined me, my need amplifying theirs and together we came to the pillar of fire. I could hardly breathe as I took in the sight before me.

Lined up on either side of a short path to the column of fire, stood the Had-Beens. Every single one of them, from the Librarian to the Artist stood watching, looking at me with shining, imploring eyes. The little path they had made between them, like a red carpet, led straight up to the golden fire. I was so close to it I could feel the actual heat radiating off of it. So hot, so frightful. I stopped again. The footsteps stopped. 

What awaited me in that terrifying flame? 

“Everything.” came a soft voice from amidst the Had-Beens. The Gardener smiled at me. 

“Maybe nothing.” said another voice, The Gravekeeper this time, looking at me with those infinitely sad eyes.

“That’s up to you.” the Clown said with a smirk.

“Do you dare?” the Professor’s dark eyes glittered at me.

The Tinkerer tilted his head with a smile. “It might be fantastic.”

“It might be sad.” the Dancer sighed. 

“You must take a leap of faith, my dear boy!”

“How are you supposed to make new discoveries without the existence of the unknown?”

“There could be music out there!”

“And art!”

“And adventure!”

I stared at all of the Had-Beens, the afterglow of life pulsing in them, flowing from them to the fire and back again, and I understood. What a wonderful feeling it was, True Understanding. The Had-Beens had come from that fire. They had been born amongst the flames, fueled by the raw, golden power of Life. They had had a taste of the unknown, and that is what had made them who they are. 

And now it was my turn. 

The footsteps beside me hesitated as I began to walk towards it, the fire reflected in my eyes as I advanced. But then almost as suddenly, they advanced with me, keeping my stride as we approached. I pulled us both closer, towards our laid path. Our path upwards into that unknown void. 

We stood only a single pace from it now. My entire body shook from the power of it. It was time. Time to be born Anew. I chanced a single glance back at the joyous Had-Beens before I took that last step, and entered the Flame.

It was hot and cold, and pain and pleasantness. It was everything and nothing all at once. It was fire that burned the brightest and hottest, and yet it was a cool breeze, caressing my cheek. I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t need to breathe. 

For the smallest of moments, I registered those footsteps next to me. And then we were intertwining, I came to realise very suddenly that we had never really been apart. We were one. Neither him, nor I had ever really existed, not as our own entities. The Oneness had always been there. The realisation made me laugh. How ridiculous to think that we could have ever been apart! And as I laughed, he laughed. We grasped onto each other, feeling the need to be closer, to be together, to be one. This is how we are meant to be. I didn’t ever want to leave.

And then the feeling began to fall away. The presence, the Oneness ebbed away. He was gone. He was gone! Where did he go? And that was when I opened my eyes. There he was, clear as day. And through his eyes I could see myself there, clear as day. We were still the same, but the one-ness was over. And as the Fire fell away, he faded from me. Falling away into the beyond, as I now recognised it to be. The end of life perhaps, but a new beginning all the same. 

Alive. I’m alive!

The Universe, my Life faded in around me and I knew for the first time in both my existence, and my non-existence, exactly who I was.

I am The Doctor.

Oh, Brilliant!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This work is a bit weird I'll admit. It's just a tad out there, but it's a concept I've been throwing around for a while so I hope you enjoy! Feedback is always greatly appreciated! Your suggestions and advice help me grow as a writer.


End file.
